1. The Reluctant Dog Walker

THE RELUCTANT DOG WALKER

I T WASN'T that Rosie Brown didn't love her new grandchildren with every beat of her heart. She adored them as much as she adored Mary, her only daughter. But at 63, she didn't think she could cope with the pressures of looking after two bonkers toddlers who placed their sticky fingers all over her clothes from the moment they saw her, and insisted on kicking on her with such ferocity that she'd often go hobbling home feeling like she'd played a rugby match.

Despite being only a couple of years old, they seemed to have the combined strength of a silver-back gorilla.

She stood on her daughter's doorstep, finger hovering over the doorbell. The muffled wails of the tiny little people inside and a dog's excited yapping filtered through the pale blue door. She smoothed down her beige cardigan, took a deep breath, and pressed the bell.

The cacophony inside intensified. Rosie winced, wondering if she should have called first. But then, when did Mary ever answer her phone these days?

The door flew open, revealing Mary - or, rather, a dishevelled version of her usually put-together daughter. Mary's hair was piled in a messy bun, dark circles shadowed her eyes, and was that... yes, that was definitely food on the side of her face and a teaspoon in her hair.

"Mum!" Mary's voice cracked with relief. "Thank God you're here. I was just about to call you."

Before Rosie could respond, a bundle of soft, golden fur launched itself at her knees.

"Elvis! No!" Mary grabbed for the excitable Cavapoo, but missed. The dog danced around Rosie's legs, leaving muddy paw prints on her crisp linen trousers.

She hadn't even got into the house yet, and she already looked homeless.

"Oh, darling," Rosie sighed, bending to pat Elvis half-heartedly. "You look..."

"Like death warmed up?" Mary finished, attempting to wrangle Elvis back inside. "Trust me, I feel worse than I look. The twins have been up all night with colds. One cried, then the other one woke up and cried, then the first one cried again. Just when they'd gone back to sleep at 3am, Elvis decided it was the perfect time for a display of his barking prowess. Obviously that woke them both up again."

"Oh lord. That sounds tough. Where's Ted?"

"He's still away on this work trip. Come in, Mum. Sorry about the mess. I haven't had a chance to... well, do anything really."

Rosie stepped into the hallway, nearly tripping over a teetering stack of toddler paraphenalia. The house, which was never the tidiest place in the world, looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

In the living room, two bouncy baby chairs occupied centre stage. Stuffed animals formed a protective perimeter around them, as if warding off the encroaching chaos of discarded bottles, cloths and what appeared to be the entire contents of Mary's wardrobe.

Mary made a beeline for the chairs, scooping up a red-faced, wailing bundle from each. "Shh, shh," she cooed, bouncing them gently. "It's alright, my loves. Granny's here to see you."

Rosie's heart melted at the sight of her grandchildren. They had endured such a difficult start in life. Her beautiful daughter, Emily, had been kidnapped for the first few months of her life. Now they were all reunited, and doing well.But she knew her daughter had suffered a great deal and would probably never recover properly from the ordeal.

"Oh, aren't they precious," Rosie said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I haven't slept in a month. That's because I haven't," Mary said, attempting to juggle both babies and pacify Elvis, who was now trying to climb up her leg. "I don't know how people do this, Mum. I feel like I'm drowning."

Rosie's maternal instincts kicked in. She was seriously out of practice, but she couldn't bear to see her daughter struggling like this. "Here, let me take one," she said, reaching for George, nestled in Mary's left arm.

"Thanks, Mum," Mary said, relief evident in her voice. "That's Daisy, the noisy one."

Rosie cradled Daisy, marvelling at how such a tiny being could simultaneously fill her with joy and terror. "There, there," she murmured, rocking gently. To Rosie's surprise, Daisy's cries began to subside.

"How did you do that?" Mary asked, incredulous. "I've been trying to settle her for hours."

Rosie shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "Just the magic touch, I suppose. Why don't you sit down? You look dead on your feet."

Mary collapsed onto the sofa, still bouncing George. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Mum. Ted is away for another week, and I'm at my wit's end. I haven't showered in days, the house is a disaster, and don't even get me started on poor Elvis. I haven't walked him properly in ages."

As if understanding he was the topic of conversation, Elvis trotted over to Mary, head cocked to one side. He dropped a leash at her feet and looked up expectantly.

Mary groaned. "Oh, Elvis, not now. I'm sorry, boy, but I just can't."

Rosie watched as Mary's eyes filled with tears. She remembered those early days of motherhood - the bone-deep exhaustion, the feeling of being overwhelmed, the guilt that came with not being able to do it all. But she'd only had Mary to contend with. Twins and a dog? It was no wonder her daughter was at breaking point.

Before she could stop herself, Rosie heard herself say, "I could walk Elvis for you."

Mary's head snapped up. "What? Oh, Mum, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking, I'm offering," Rosie said, surprising herself. She hadn't so much as petted a dog since their old Labrador, Biscuit, had passed away years ago. But desperate times called for desperate measures. "It's no trouble, really. You focus on the twins, and I'll make sure Elvis here gets some exercise."

"Are you sure?" Mary asked, hope creeping into her voice. "He can be a handful..."

Rosie waved away her concerns. "Nonsense. How hard can it be to walk a little dog like Elvis? It'll do me good to get some fresh air."

Twenty minutes later, Rosie found herself wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake. Elvis pranced ahead of her, tugging on the leash with surprising strength for such a small dog. They'd barely made it to the end of Mary's street, and already Rosie was out of breath.

"Heel, Elvis," she commanded, trying to remember the dog training shows she used to watch. Elvis ignored her completely, instead choosing that moment to stop and thoroughly investigate a lamppost.

Rosie sighed, glancing around furtively. The park at the end of the road was filled with young mothers pushing prams, joggers in skin-tight lycra, and professional dog walkers managing packs of well-behaved pooches. She felt painfully out of place in her sensible shoes and conservative outfit.

A young woman jogged past, flashing Rosie a pitying smile. "Cute dog," she called over her shoulder. "Is he your granddog?"

Rosie felt her cheeks flush. Granddog? Did she really look that old? She caught her reflection in a shop window and gasped. When did she start looking like her own grandmother?

Elvis chose that moment to give the leash a particularly forceful tug, nearly yanking Rosie off her feet. She stumbled, arms windmilling as she fought to keep her balance.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered, finally regaining her footing. She glared down at Elvis, who looked back at her with an expression of pure innocence. "Don't give me that look. I'm onto you, you little furball."

As they entered the park, Rosie's discomfort grew. She felt like every eye was on her - the old lady who couldn't control one tiny dog. A group of mothers with buggies eyed her warily as Elvis strained towards them, yapping excitedly.

"Sorry, sorry," Rosie apologised, trying to steer Elvis away. "He's just... friendly."

One of the mothers, a willowy blonde in designer athleisure wear, raised an eyebrow. "You might want to try a harness," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "It gives you more control."

Rosie bristled. More control? She'd raised a child on her own, run a successful business, and navigated a divorce. She could handle one small dog, thank you very much.

But as Elvis darted from bush to bush, wrapped the leash around her legs, and generally made a nuisance of himself, Rosie's confidence waned. She was sweating now, her carefully styled hair coming loose in the light breeze.

"Elvis, please," she pleaded, trying to untangle herself for the umpteenth time. "Can't we just have a nice, calm walk?"

Elvis responded by spotting a squirrel and taking off at full speed. Caught off guard, Rosie found herself being dragged along, her sensible shoes slipping on the damp grass.

"Stop! Heel! Sit!" She tried every command she could think of, but Elvis was on a mission. The squirrel darted up a tree, and Elvis came to an abrupt halt at its base. The sudden stop sent Rosie stumbling forward, and before she knew it, she was face-down on the ground, her dignity in tatters along with her beige cardigan.

For a moment, she lay there, the cool grass against her cheek, wondering how on earth she'd ended up in this situation. Then, she felt a warm, wet tongue on her face. She opened her eyes to find Elvis looking at her with what she could have sworn was concern.

Despite herself, Rosie chuckled. "Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten us into," she said, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Elvis wagged his tail, then promptly flopped down next to her, resting his head on her lap.

As Rosie sat there, grass stains on her knees and Elvis contentedly snuggled against her, she realised something. For the first time in years, she felt... alive. Her heart was racing, her cheeks were flushed, and despite the embarrassment, she felt a spark of something she hadn't experienced in a long time. Excitement? Adventure?

She looked around the park with new eyes. Yes, there were the perfect young mothers and the fit dog walkers. But there were also older couples strolling hand in hand, groups of friends laughing on benches, and solo wanderers lost in thought. Maybe she didn't have to fit into any particular box. Maybe it was time to create her own category.

With a renewed sense of determination, Rosie got to her feet, brushing grass from her clothes. "Alright, Elvis," she said, a glint in her eye. "Let's try this again, shall we? And this time, we play by my rules."

As they set off down the path, Rosie held her head high. Let them stare. Let them wonder about the sixty-something woman with grass in her hair and a mischievous dog by her side. She had a feeling this was just the beginning of something new and exciting.

By the time they returned to Mary's house, Rosie was disheveled, tired, and covered in dog hair - but she was also grinning from ear to ear. As she handed Elvis back to a grateful and slightly bemused Mary, she made a decision.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, surprising both Mary and herself.

Mary's eyes widened. "Really? You'd do that?"

Rosie nodded, a newfound resolve settling over her. "Absolutely. Elvis and I have some unfinished business in that park."

As she drove home, Rosie couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, taking in her wind-tousled hair and the spark in her eyes. Maybe it was time to trade in those sensible slacks for something a little more... daring.